


Caledonia, you’re calling me

by stjarna



Series: Rural Scotland AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 1950s AU, Angst with feels, F/M, Fluff, Perthshire, Prequel, Rural Scotland AU, angst with fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Prequel to"Five Senses"Jemma Simmons is a medical doctor, who ends up in rural Scotland at the clinic of Doctor Holden Radcliffe, where she meets the quiet and closed-off Leopold Fitz. Set in the 1950s.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AGL03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGL03/gifts).



> This is a prequel to ["Five Senses"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115583).
> 
> Obviously, since it's a prequel, you don't have to have read "Five Senses" in order to enjoy this fic :D
> 
> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta and @lilsciencequeen for the pre-read.
> 
> P.S. I didn't do as much excessive research as for some of my other fics, so ignore any and all anachronisms ;)
> 
> For @agl03

Jemma awkwardly maneuvered her big suitcase and medical bag through the bus’ exit, carefully stepping down onto the side of the road. Still, she almost stumbled but managed to catch herself, letting out a surprised “Oof” in the process, before turning around and politely smiling at the bus driver.

“Everything alright there, Miss?” the bus driver asked in a Scottish brogue so thick  Jemma almost had trouble understanding him.

She bobbed her head in confirmation. “Yes, quite alright. Just a little tumble. Thank you, Sir.”

The bus driver tapped his cap, before closing the door to the bus.

Jemma watched him drive away, her hands tightly wrapped around the handles of her suitcase and her medical bag. She quickly reached with one hand for her hat, ensuring it was still properly in place, before returning to her previous position, her eyes curiously wandering side to side.

She took in the small town, quite picturesque, really, and yet her stomach churned with uneasiness, knowing this wasn’t even her final stop, that her journey would take her even further into the Scottish countryside, to a small, remote health clinic that served an entire district.

She’d never imagined ending up so far north, so removed from the city life she’d become accustomed to, but even though she had graduated with highest marks and a great deal of ambition from the London School of Medicine for Women, it appeared that despite all progress, most hospitals and city clinics were still hesitant to hire a female doctor.

She’d grown desperate after receiving rejection letter after rejection letter, applying for more and more remote locations, even considering moving to one of the colonies.

Finally, a Doctor Radcliffe had sent her an offer to join his clinic in rural Perthshire, and she’d accepted in a heartbeat, much to her parents’ dismay, who’d hoped for a better position in Yorkshire or even London, or at the very least less removed.

But her desire to practice medicine was stronger than her desire to please her parents. She’d started packing her bags as soon as she’d sent a telegram to Doctor Radcliffe accepting his offer, and as soon as he’d confirmed receipt of her note, she’d made her travel plans.

Now, she’d arrived at her first stop, where Doctor Radcliffe had assured her he’d pick her up.

“Doctor Simmons?”

The quiet male voice ripped Jemma out of her thoughts.

She spun around, furrowing her brow when she saw the young, curly-haired man, about her age, his mouth ticked into a shy half-smile. His clothes had seen better days and hung a bit loosely on his body. His hands were tucked into his pockets and his shoulder pulled up slightly as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

He wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Doctor Radcliffe’s writing style had been quite grand and elaborate, letting her imagine a respectable medical professional the age of her father.

“Are you Doctor Simmons?” the young man repeated, his tone just a tad grumpy, and Jemma realized in embarrassment that she’d stared at him in silence, neglecting to reply to his initial inquiry.

“Yes,” Jemma confirmed, forcing a smile.

The man pulled out one hand from his pocket and took a step closer, extending it for a handshake as he cleared his throat. “Leopold Fitz.”

He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Holden sent me to pick you up.”

“Holden?” Jemma asked in confusion.

“Holden Radcliffe, the—”

“Oh,” Jemma interrupted Mr. Fitz’s explanation. “Doctor Radcliffe, of course.”

Mr. Fitz nodded. “Yes, he wanted to fetch you himself, but Kirstin MacGrory went into labor and her husband called for Holden and so—”

“Oh,” Jemma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Were there complications? Do you think Doctor Radcliffe would benefit from my assistance?”

“Umm,” Mr. Fitz stammered, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know. He said to pick you up and bring you to the clinic, show you your room. Didn’t sound like an emergency.”

“Hmm,” Jemma furrowed her brow in thought. “Would you happen to know when Mrs. MacGrory’s contractions started? Is it her first child?”

“Umm, yes, it’s her first and—” Once again Mr. Fitz raised his shoulders to his ears, “—I’m not sure when they started. Holden left around the same time I did.”

“You live at the clinic as well?”

Mr. Fitz only nodded in silent confirmation.

“And how long is the drive to the clinic?” Jemma inquired, the surprise over the young man’s unexplained presence at the medical facility less important than figuring out her next steps.

“Half an hour.”

“And the drive to the MacGrorys’?”

“‘’Bout the same in the other direction, further north,” Mr. Fitz replied, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Alright,” Jemma said firmly. “Why don’t you take me to the clinic and show me my room, and then—if it’s not too much bother—you could drive me to the MacGrorys’. I’d like to be of help if I can and Mrs. MacGrory may appreciate the help of a female doctor.”

“Alright, car’s this way,” Mr. Fitz replied, before gesturing at Jemma’s suitcase and medical bag. “Should I—?”

Jemma smiled politely. “It’s quite alright. Just lead the way.”

She followed Mr. Fitz as he slowly walked towards a car parked just a little off to the side.

“So, the clinic has two motorized vehicles? That’s rather impressive, I must say,” Jemma remarked, as she placed her suitcase and bag in the backseat, before sitting down on the front passenger side.

“Umm, this one’s mine, actually,” Mr. Fitz corrected her. “I need it for deliveries, repairs, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, how interesting. You’ll have to tell me more about your business, Mr. Fitz.”

“Just Fitz,” the young Scot replied, glancing briefly at Jemma before his eyes darted to the steering wheel as he started the car.

“Oh,” Jemma muttered in surprise, unsure of how else to respond.

“Mr. Fitz is too formal, and I’ve never really liked Leopold. Only my mum called me that,” Fitz explained, a ghost of a smile flashing across his face. “—and my dad,” he added, barely above a whisper, and Jemma noticed the smile disappearing and his jaw tightening at the words.

“Very well, just Fitz then,” Jemma confirmed, before clearing her throat.

* * *

They barely spoke during the drive, Fitz only occasionally pointing out the names of some of the farms and the families that lived there, while Jemma primarily drank in the scenic landscape.

The clinic resembled a farm more than anything else. It had two primary buildings: the clinic itself, as well as Doctor Radcliffe’s residence, a quaint two-story cottage. A barn appeared to serve as the garage for Fitz’s and—Jemma assumed—Doctor Radcliffe’s motorized vehicles.

This time, Jemma didn’t object when Fitz grabbed her suitcase and medical bag. It gave her a chance to take in what she presumed she would call her home for the unforeseeable future as she followed Fitz to the house.

Before Fitz could grab for the handle, the door swung open and a woman with wavy, long, dark-brown hair tied into a loose ponytail smiled widely back at them.

“Well, I thought I heard the car,” she said in a chipper tone, her eyes bright and welcoming, and Jemma noticed in surprise that she spoke with an Australian accent.

She wiped her hands off on her apron, before extending her hand in Jemma’s direction. “I’m Agnes, Holden’s wife. He’s been so excited, Doctor Simmons. Really can use help with the clinic.”

Jemma accepted Mrs. Radcliffe’s handshake, smiling politely. “You’re from Australia,” she inquired, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Mrs. Radcliffe let out a single laugh. “Sure am. Holden spent a few years there before the war. I came back with him when I was barely 18. Life’s never quite what you think it’ll be, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Jemma agreed, feeling a sudden sting to her heart.

“Should I show you your room?” Fitz suddenly interrupted, ticking his head in the direction of the inside.

“Yes, I would greatly appreciate that,” Jemma replied.

“Oh my, of course,” Mrs. Radcliffe exclaimed, taking a step back into the hallway. “Where are my manners? Letting you stand outside like that. Why don’t I go and prepare us all a cuppa, while Fitz shows you around? I might even still have some biscuits.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Radcliffe—” Jemma tried to interject, when Mrs. Radcliffe cut her off.

“Please, call me Agnes.”

“Thank you, Agnes,” Jemma corrected. “But we won’t stay long. Mr. Fitz—Fitz has agreed to take me to the MacGrorys’ straight away. I’d like to see if I can offer additional medical assistance.”

Agnes placed her hands on her hips. “Oh my. Holden said you sounded like quite the busy worker bee. Well, I hope I’ll see you for dinner then.”

“Most likely,” Jemma offered as a polite reply.

Agnes’ mouth pulled into another wide smile as she stepped aside, gesturing into the house and allowing Fitz to take the lead.

He lifted his chin in the direction of the hallway. “First door’s the kitchen. Dining table’s there, too. Second one’s the living room. First on the left is the loo, second Holden and Agnes’ bedroom.”

“An indoor lavatory,” Jemma remarked, wide-eyed. “Quite impressive. I was told not to expect it in these parts of the country.”

“Fitz and Holden installed it last year,” Agnes explained proudly, still somewhat hovering behind Fitz and Jemma.

“The other rooms are upstairs,” Fitz said, seemingly not seeing any need to discuss his accomplishment further.

He gestured with his head, before taking a step in that direction, carrying Jemma’s suitcase and medical bag upstairs while Jemma followed, taking a final glance back at Agnes, who was still smiling warmly at her.

“The right one’s mine,” Fitz explained at the top of the stairs. “The other three are empty. Holden’s trying to hire a nurse or two, but for now you can have your pick.”

Jemma took the last step up, her hand still holding on to the railing, and eyed the three doors of the unoccupied rooms, a sense of nervousness settling in her stomach.

“That one’s a bit bigger.” Fitz lifted Jemma’s suitcase in the direction of the door right next to the staircase. “Gets more light, too.”

The corners of his mouth ticked up barely noticeably, but the gesture was enough to conjure an appreciative smile to Jemma’s lips.

“Well, maybe I’ll take a look at this one then?” she replied, reaching with confidence for the handle and entering her room.

The sun shone through the window, and though the air felt a bit stuffy and dust clouds danced in the sun beams, the simple room, with a dresser, bed, and desk, seemed rather welcoming.

Jemma looked back at Fitz, pressing her lips into a closed-mouth smile. “Well, this will do nicely.”

Fitz exhaled sharply, the sound almost a sigh of relief. He bobbed his head, before stepping into the room, placing Jemma’s suitcase on the bed, and extending the hand carrying the medical bag in her direction. “Should I take you to the MacGrorys’ now?”

“I’d greatly appreciate it,” Jemma confirmed, taking the bag from him and following him back downstairs, excited to begin a new chapter of her life: Doctor Jemma Simmons, general practitioner in rural Scotland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had to guess, I'd say it'll be around 4 chapters, but I'm not sure yet.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Jemma had managed to maneuver her medical bag out of Doctor Radcliffe’s vehicle, the Scottish doctor was already halfway to his cottage. Jemma watched him for a moment as he strutted towards the house in big, fast steps, before she quickly reached behind herself to shut the car’s door and rush after him.

“Doctor Radcliffe,” she tried calling, but he seemed to ignore her.

She managed to almost catch up with him by the time they reached the steps to the front door. He swung the door open with such force that it banged against the wall.

“Agnes,” he exclaimed loudly, as Jemma followed him into the house, her chest heaving slightly from running after her new employer.

Doctor Radcliffe poked his head into the kitchen. “Agnes, my love, drop what you’re doing and come to the living room.”

“Doctor Radcliffe,” Jemma tried again.

This time her interjection was at least acknowledged briefly, as Doctor Radcliffe turned around. “Holden,” he said, before turning back when he noticed his wife in the kitchen door.

“What’s going on?” Agnes asked, wiping her hands off on her apron.

Doctor Radcliffe placed both hands on his wife’s upper arms. “Oh, my dear, we need to celebrate.”

Agnes’ face lit up, as she curiously glanced from her husband to Jemma and back. “Oh really?”

“Yes!” Doctor Radcliffe announced, raising his finger in the air. “A drink is in order.”

Jemma slumped her shoulders. “Doctor Radcliffe, really—”

But the doctor spun on his heels without paying her any heed and headed down the hallway towards the living room, with Agnes following right behind him.

Jemma exhaled sharply, placing her medical bag down on the floor and straightening her dress, before walking into the living room as well.

Doctor Radcliffe had opened the door of a glass cabinet, reaching for a bottle of whiskey, while his eyes focussed on Fitz who was sitting in an armchair in the corner reading.

“Fitz, my boy, put away your book and join us,” Doctor Radcliffe announced, causing Fitz to look up in surprise.

“Umm,” Fitz muttered in confusion.

Jemma couldn’t help herself and let out another deep sigh. “Doctor Radcliffe, really—”

“So, what exactly are we celebrating?” Agnes asked curiously, as she placed four glasses on the coffee table.

Doctor Radcliffe raised the whiskey bottle in Jemma’s direction. “This extraordinary gem. First day and she’s already proven her worth ten times over.”

Jemma exhaled another shaky breath, watching nervously as Fitz slowly pushed himself out of the armchair and stepped closer, tucking his hands in his pockets. “What’d she do?”

“Doctor Radcliffe, really, I—” Jemma tried to plead again.

“This marvellous young woman—,” Doctor Radcliffe replied to Fitz’s inquiry while looking at Jemma, “—whom I’ve told repeatedly to call me Holden—is not only an exceptional physician but also has a gift that many people—particularly men—in our profession lack: compassion.”

“Doctor Radcl—Holden,” Jemma interjected sternely, taking the opportunity of a pause in the Scottish doctor’s speech as he began pouring whiskey into the glasses. “As I told you on the drive back, I simply did what anyone would have done.”

Holden straightened up, waving one index finger in the air as he handed Jemma one of the glasses. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear Doctor Simmons.”

“Jemma,” Jemma said quietly, feeling the need to reciprocate the doctor’s offer to call him by his first name.

“You see—” Holden continued, taking two more glasses and handing them to his wife and Fitz respectively, before reaching for Fitz’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly and looking directly at the younger Scotsman. “—there’s so much more to medicine than knowing the right treatment for a medical condition. You also must know how to treat your patients, as humans—humans with feelings and fears.”

He let go of Fitz’s shoulder, turning to face his wife instead. “So many doctors lack good bedside manners, especially when it comes to their female patients.”

He threw one hand in the air. “In fact, I may be guilty of that myself sometimes.”

He pointed at Jemma, who reflexively looked to the ground. “But you, my dear, you have it all. I mean, I had an inkling when I received your application, but to prove me right on your first day already. Exceeding all my expectations.”

“So, what happened at the MacGrorys’?” Agnes chimed in, curiously. “Did something go wrong.”

“Well—” Jemma tried to begin in an attempt to keep the story closer to the truth, but once again her enthusiastic employer beat her to it.

“The baby was breech,” Holden explained. “The mother-to-be terrified, and _her_ mother—mother of six herself, who’d helped three of her grandchildren into this world—at her wit’s end. And yet, my presence seemed to cause more stress than good.”

Holden gestured at Jemma in a grand motion. “And then this brilliant young prodigy arrives and saves the day, managing to calm the mother with her kind and reassuring words, earn her and her mother’s trust within minutes, and safely deliver the baby with impeccable technique. A healthy, young baby boy. A healthy and happy mother. And a grateful grandmother who promised us the best cut from the next lamb they slaughter and fresh eggs for a month.”

“Well, well, well,” Agnes exclaimed, looking at Jemma with wide-open eyes and a big smile. “That surely sounds like a cause for celebration.”

“Indeed, it does, my love,” Holden agreed, picking up the last glass of whiskey from the coffee table and raising it into the air. “To Doctor Jemma Anne Simmons, talented medic and exceptional human being, who so graciously has accepted my humble offer of employment. May we count ourselves lucky to welcome her into this home and into our lives.”

“Hear, hear,” Agnes called out, bringing her glass up as well, while Fitz smiled barely noticeably as he lifted his.

Jemma looked at the three people across from her, before exhaling sharply and raising her glass.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, before taking a sip from her whiskey, trying to suppress the urge to cough as the liquid burned down her throat as she swallowed.

* * *

Jemma turned off her bedside lamp, pulling her blanket over herself. She inhaled, trying to familiarize her senses with her new home.

She smiled to herself as she thought about everything that had happened during the day, from her long journey to the Perthshire countryside, meeting the quiet, closed-off Scotsman who’d picked her up, as well as Doctor Radcliffe’s kind and welcoming wife, to her first official case as a full-fledged medical practitioner and her employer’s exuberant reaction.

She had to admit that even though she’d felt a bit embarrassed by Doctor Radcli—Holden’s verbose laudation and even though she still maintained that she had simply done what anyone would have done, or _should_ have done, it had felt rather good to start her new work with such a success.

Jemma exhaled sharply as she closed her eyes, unable to keep from smiling as she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something a bit more angsty.
> 
> Trigger warning: Description of PTSD

Jemma’s eyes flew open, her body going from sleep to high alert. She sat up, her heart beating rapidly, as she tried to focus.

When she heard the screaming again, knowing for certain that it hadn’t been part of a dream, she quickly got out of bed and rushed for the door, grabbing her dressing gown from the hook in passing and throwing it on.

She opened the door and turned on the light in the hallway.

Instead of the screaming, she now heard desperate and repeated cries of “No!” intertwined with banging and clanking as things seemed to fall to the ground in the room across from her.

Jemma paused for a moment, inhaling a deep breath, before taking the few steps towards Fitz’s room and opening the door. She didn’t dare turn on the lights, but the brightness from the hallway was enough to allow her to make out his crouched-down silhouette.

He was huddled in the corner, his legs pulled up, his nightstand lamp and a few books lying on the ground in front of him. His hands trembled like leaves in a raging storm and he’d lifted them to shield his face, still whimpering the word “No” over and over again.

Jemma drew in a shaky breath before daring to speak.

“Fitz,” she said calmly but firmly, but he didn’t react. “Fitz, I’ll be walking closer to you. Don’t be scared of me.”

Jemma waited for a second to see if he’d respond, but when he didn’t she slowly stepped closer, kneeling down in front of him.

“Holden ran to the clinic to get him something.”

Jemma’s head shot around when Agnes suddenly spoke up behind her. The other woman stood in the doorway, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around herself.

Jemma forced a smile, nodding silently, before returning her focus to Fitz, whose whimpers had grown quiet, though his body was still shaking.

“Fitz, could you give me your hand?” Jemma asked, keeping her voice low and soothing.

She held out her hand, palm up, but as before, Fitz didn’t react.

“Please, Fitz, just stretch out your hand. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s quite simple.”

Slowly, his left hand moved away from the protective position in front of his face and to the side, trembling uncontrollably.

A hopeful smile flashed across Jemma’s face as she took his hand into both her own, turning it palm up. She pressed her thumbs into its center and began to massage it.

“There you go. That wasn’t so hard,” Jemma said as she kept applying gentle pressure. “Now, just listen to my voice okay. You’re in your room. You’re safe here. Just try to breath.”

Jemma drew in a deep breath, ensuring that it was loud enough for him to hear.

“Just like me,” she added, before exhaling through rounded lips and repeating the process.

She noticed how his trembling subsided just a bit, how he tried to inhale and exhale as she’d asked him to, though his breathing was strained and stuttering.

“Very good,” Jemma reassured him, continuing to massage his hand and inhale and exhale in a slow rhythm.

“Now, if you dare, Fitz,” Jemma whispered, “open your eyes.”

Slowly, he complied, glancing at her sideways, keeping his right hand in front of his face, balled into a fist, still shaking. He looked from Jemma to where she was massaging his hand, his breathing still short and ragged, though he seemed to try and calm himself.

“See,” Jemma told him, allowing herself to smile reassuringly. “You’re right here. In your room. You’re safe.”

He bit his lower lip, shutting his eyes and whimpering quietly. A single tear jumped off his lashes and snaked down his cheek, and Jemma knew that he was trying desperately not to let further tears escape. He opened his eyes again, looking at Jemma with tired sadness and shame.

Jemma wanted to say something to put his mind at ease, but before she could speak, loud and urgent steps on the staircase caused her to pause and turn towards the door instead.

Holden walked in with a glass in his hand, crouching down next to Jemma in front of Fitz. He opened the palm of his other hand, revealing a tablet. “There you go, my boy. Take it. You know it’ll help.”

Fitz’s eyes nervously darted from Jemma to Holden and back, before he carefully lowered his right hand to grab the tablet from Holden. He popped it in his mouth and with trembling hands took the glass of water to swallow the medication, before handing the glass back to Holden.

Holden put it down on the nightstand, before stretching out his hand in Fitz’s direction. “Now, come on, son, let’s see if we can stand up, shall we?”

Fitz nodded slowly, accepting Holden’s hand, while Jemma adjusted her grip to place one hand under his elbow to help him up. His posture was slightly slouched when he stood, his muscles still noticeably tense and trembling. He blinked, his eyes tear-filled.

“Let’s get you back into bed,” Holden said, and once again Fitz bobbed his head in agreement, taking a few shuffling steps to the bed and sitting down on the mattress, before lowering his body down.

Jemma remained where she was, unsure of what to do, her hands now idly playing with each other as she watched Holden pull the blanket over Fitz.

The doctor straightened up, gesturing at Jemma and Agnes, who had watched the whole scene from the safety of the doorframe. “You two should go back to bed. I’ll stay here.”

“Don’t have to,” Fitz’s quiet voice piped up from the bed, causing everyone to look in his direction.

“Just until the sedative gives its full effect,” Holden said firmly, before adding more softly, “like I always do.”

Holden turned back to Jemma and Agnes, lifting his chin briefly and silently.

Jemma swallowed before bobbing her head in agreement and heading back into the hallway, closing the door behind herself. She looked at Agnes, who smiled reassuringly, squeezing Jemma’s shoulder.

“Good night, my dear,” the older woman said. “And thank you.”

Jemma managed to force a smile and nod, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything in return besides a quiet “Good night.”

* * *

Jemma slowly walked down the stairs, straightening her dress and carefully listening for the voices in the kitchen. The rest of the night had been quiet and yet Jemma’s sleep had been restless and she’d woken up with an uncomfortable knot in her stomach. She forced a smile before entering the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily, causing everyone’s head to turn her way, though Fitz immediately lowered his gaze to the table again, pretending to focus on the scrambled eggs on his plate.

“Good morning, my dear Doctor Simmons. Ready for your first official day at the clinic?” Holden asked, his tone chipper as usual.

“Good morning.” Agnes’ greeting was more quiet, though she smiled warmly. “Would you like some toast and eggs? Water’s still hot, too, if you want tea.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Jemma replied politely.

She looked up in surprise when Fitz suddenly pushed his chair back, clearing his throat and wetting his lips. “I should get going.”

He walked past Jemma and into the hallway.

Jemma exchanged a brief look with Holden and Agnes, whose expressions were suddenly more somber.

“Fitz,” Jemma called after the young Scot, turning on her heels and heading towards the entrance.

Fitz stood in the open door, looking back at her with wide-open eyes. “Yes?”

“Did you sleep alright for the rest of the night?” Jemma asked, trying to smile.

He clenched his jaw, balling his fists. “Doesn’t happen every night,” he said defensively instead of replying to her question.

“But most nights?” she heard herself say quietly against her better judgement.

Fitz gnawed on his bottom lip, exhaling a shaky breath. His hand wrapped around the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously, before scratching the skin below his ear.

“Look, I’m sure Holden can find you another place if you don’t want to stay here. Or… or I’ll find something else.” He gestured behind himself out the front door. “There are some rooms in the clinic that aren’t really used and—”

“Fitz,” Jemma interrupted him, wringing her hands in front of her. “I wasn’t asking out of concern for my own sleep quality. I was asking out of concern for _you_.”

Fitz let out a frustrated sigh, his body stiffening. “I’m fine,” he barked.

“Fitz, I’m quite familiar with your symptoms—not only as a medical professional but also—” Jemma paused, old feelings finding their way back to the surface, threatening to overwhelm her. She swallowed, exhaling sharply to steady herself, before speaking with confidence, “—but also as the daughter of a man who went to war.”

Fitz stared back at her in silence, his lips slightly parted.

“And I wish you to know,” Jemma continued, “that even though I don’t have a lot of experience with psychiatric practice, I—” She chuckled weakly. “Well, I’ve always been told that I’m a very good listener, and I want you to know that I believe talking about your experience could be a first step in finding relief and… and my door is always open.”

He still looked at her without saying a word, though his teeth glided back and forth across his lower lip.

“I gotta go,” he mumbled suddenly, turning around and pulling the door shut behind him.

Jemma stared at the closed entrance, before letting her chin drop to her chest in resignation.

“War changes people.”

Jemma turned around at Holden’s unexpected interruption. The doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. She nodded in silence.

“And often the scars we don’t see are far more damaging than those that cut our flesh,” Holden continued, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking a step towards Jemma. “They run deeper, tear into our souls.”

Holden stopped in front of Jemma, lifting his chin in the direction of the door. “Fitz had scars no one was supposed to see long before the war. The war just made it worse; tormented him further; cut deeper into old scars and gave him new ones.”

“I was just trying to help,” Jemma remarked quietly, shaking her head.

“And I greatly appreciate what you did,” Holden replied, “—last night, and right now. And my hope is that one day, Fitz will too.”

One corner of Jemma’s mouth twitched briefly into the ghost of a sad smile.

“Now, what do you say, Doctor Simmons?” Holden asked, his tone suddenly switching from somber back to his usual enthusiasm. “Shall we finish breakfast and then I’ll finally show you the clinic?”

Jemma nodded. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

* * *

Fitz’s eyes flew open, his body going from sleep to high alert. He sat up, his heart beating rapidly, as he tried to focus.

But there was no screaming, there were no bombs, there wasn’t the sound of water rushing around him, pulling him down.

Fitz looked down at his shaking hands, tears filling his eyes. He forced himself to exhale sharply and grabbed his left hand, pressing his right thumb into its center and massaging it forcefully, trying to steady his breathing.

Slowly, the terrors faded.

 _At least this time I didn’t scream_ , he thought.

Fitz cleared his throat, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and sitting still for a moment before pushing himself to standing. He dragged his feet across the floor to the door, his muscles still heavy and tight. He stepped into the hallway, not daring to turn on the light though the moon shown through the window at the end of the corridor, bathing everything in a dim shimmer.

Fitz paused, staring at the door across from his room.

_My door is always open._

He hesitated for a moment, before sighing deeply, heading down the stairs to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

He still tossed and turned when he lay back down in bed, but instead of his usual worries and fears, her voice echoed through his mind.

_My door is always open._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it'll be more than 4 chapters. Forget my original estimate. Why do I even bother trying to estimate? I never seem to be right anymore :D


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma had been in Perthshire for just over a week now. She’d spent the first few days shadowing Holden, both at the clinic and when he tended to patients at their homes.

Most people had been quite welcoming, but some seemed rather skeptical about Doctor Radcliffe’s new hire. Particularly a few older, male patients had furrowed their brows. Jemma had especially enjoyed when the wife of an exceptionally grumpy man had elbowed her husband, scolding him for his bad behavior in front of ‘such a lovely young woman.’

This morning, however, Holden had suggested that he’d go on rounds through the district by himself, to those patients that were unable to travel to the clinic, while Jemma were to hold down the fort, as Holden had called it.

The schedule hadn’t been particularly busy, and once the last appointment had concluded and Jemma had finished her reports, she had returned to the cottage, as Holden had suggested, as the phone lines were identical and she’d be able to accept calls at either location.

She’d sat in the kitchen for a bit, chatting with Agnes, listening to her stories from Australia, until Agnes had remembered that the postman had delivered a letter for Jemma, which she’d placed on the coffee table in the living room together with Holden’s mail.

Jemma had excused herself to fetch her mail.

Fitz had looked up from his book when Jemma had entered the living room, smiling shyly.

He’d still been rather quiet since Jemma’s first night at the cottage, and yet Jemma had gotten the impression that it was a polite reservedness, a shy hesitation, rather than hostility.

Jemma had smiled politely in return before grabbing her letter and heading upstairs to her room.

* * *

Now she’d been staring at the almost empty piece of paper for a good ten minutes.

_Dear Mother,_

_Thank you for your letter._

Jemma paused, lifting the pen and looking out her bedroom window, contemplating what to tell her family and what to omit. The sun still shone brightly, though it was obvious that it was slowly setting, announcing the end of the day.

_Doctor Radcliffe’s estate has several buildings. A barn that serves as a garage for two vehicles, the clinic itself, and the home residence—a lovely two-storey cottage. My room is simple, yet has everything I could need. The house even has indoor plumbing, which came as a pleasant surprise._

Jemma looked up startled when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in, please,” she declared, her eyes curiously fixed on the door.

It opened slowly and to Jemma’s surprise Fitz stepped inside, carefully raising a cup in his hand.

“I made you some tea,” he said, shyly.

Jemma’s eyes widened. “Oh. Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

A weak smile flashed over his face as he walked closer, handing Jemma the cup. “Two sugar, right?”

Jemma couldn’t help but reciprocate his smile. “That’s correct. Thank you.”

He nodded in silence, tucking his hands in his pockets and looking to the ground, but showing no indication that he intended to leave.

“Can I help you with anything?” Jemma asked, placing the cup down on the table and eyeing him carefully.

He wet his lower lip, before gnawing it with teeth.

“You said your dad—” Fitz suddenly said, barely above a whisper, but seemingly unable to finish his sentence.

Jemma’s lips parted in surprise and she couldn’t help a soft smile. “Yes, he suffered the same symptoms as you after the war. Shell shock, battle fatigue, terrors, horrors, whatever you want to call it.”

Fitz briefly glanced up, his posture small and timid. “Does he still have it?”

Jemma smiled sadly, turning her chair slightly to be able to better look at the young Scotsman. “It’s much better. Hardly any nightmares at all, as far as I’ve been told.” She let out a quiet chuckle. “Let’s just say he has a very stubborn daughter with medical inclinations who wouldn’t take no for an answer until he sought help.”

Fitz scoffed in amusement, one corner of his mouth ticking up briefly. “I believe that.” He looked at her, his teeth once again thoughtfully grinding across his lower lip.

Jemma fought the urge to ask if he’d come to talk to her about his experience, fearing it would once again push him away. Instead, she tried to smile at him reassuringly.

Fitz exhaled sharply, turning around and taking a step forward.

Jemma slumped her shoulders, overcome with sadness that he’d changed his mind, but then he sat down on her mattress, resting his arms on his knees and massaging the center of his palm with the thumb of the other hand. Jemma couldn’t help but smile at the familiar motion.

Fitz stared at his hands, pressing his lips together and exhaling a stuttering breath, his eyes blinking rapidly, while Jemma felt her own heart beat with nervous anticipation.

“Mum wanted to leave Glasgow when the Nazis started bombing London,” he suddenly began quietly. “Holden offered to take us in.” He scoffed. “But my dad would have none of it, and when he left for the front he said, ‘You better be here when I come back or so help me God—'”

Another angry puff of air left his lips as he shook his head. “She was so afraid of him. We both were. Bloody temper.”

He sighed, shrugging slightly and briefly glancing up at Jemma. “So we stayed. And then [Glasgow got hit by the Blitz. March 1941](http://www.heraldscotland.com/news/14273457.Scotland_s__forgotten__Blitz/). Not that many people talk about that one. We got lucky the first night. Our district wasn’t hit. But on the 14th—”

His voice broke and he had to clear his throat before being able to continue, blinking away tears. “They somehow pulled me out of the rubble alive, but Mum—”

He wiped across his eyes, sniffing loudly, before letting out a quiet cough. “Two days later at the hospital they told me that my dad had been killed.” His lips ticked up briefly in pained amusement. “His death was somehow a lot easier to accept.”

He wet his lips, looking at Jemma, something about his eyes telling her that he was more composed now. “Holden brought me here after they discharged me from the hospital. Thought it would be good for me.” He let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Fresh country air, peace and quiet.”

Fitz shook his head. “But as soon as I turned 18 and got my letter, I couldn’t wait to ship out. I hated those Nazi bastards for what they’d done. I wanted to do right by my mum, avenge her. I was so angry. And somehow—because he’d always told me I was weak, and good for nothing—I also wanted to go and prove my dad wrong.”

Jemma felt her eyes well up as Fitz recounted his story, but she didn’t dare interrupt, sensing that he wasn’t finished.

“Made it six months,” Fitz continued. “Came back more dead than alive.”

He drew in a slow breath, his exhale leaving him stuttering. “Our convoy drove over a bridge. I was in the first lorry. We hit a landmine. Bridge just collapsed under us and the whole lorry just—”

He paused, his eyes glazing over as his mind recalled those memories. “Lost consciousness. Hit my head or something. Almost drowned, but my mate Hunter somehow managed to pull me to the surface. Wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”

“That sounds like a good friend to have,” Jemma dared chime in quietly.

One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticked up briefly as he nodded. “Yes. He lives in America now. Married to a spy or something. She drives him nuts.”

A teasing grin appeared on his face and Jemma couldn’t help but laugh, causing Fitz to chuckle briefly as well, before his expression grew more somber again.

“I was unconscious for days. Nobody knew if I’d make it. And then, when I woke up, my—um—” He paused, tapping his temple with two fingers, “—my head was—”

“Your brain didn’t receive enough oxygen,” Jemma concluded.

Fitz nodded. “Yes, could barely speak. Took almost a year until I stopped stuttering. Still sometimes happens. And my hand—” He stopped massaging his palm, lifting his hand and revealing that it was trembling slightly, before returning it to its previous position.

Jemma smiled in understanding. “That was a lot of trauma you went through,” she said quietly.

“‘Suppose.” Fitz shrugged, before scoffing loudly. “Though I always thought that maybe my dad was right all along.” He gaze dropped to his lap as his posture grew even smaller than before. “Being at war was just another thing I'm not good at."

Jemma felt her jaw tense at his words. She pushed herself up and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to him and reaching over to cover his hands with her own. He looked up at her in surprise, but made no effort to pull his hands away.

“Well, if you ask me,” Jemma said confidently, “being at war isn't something we should be good at.”

Fitz scoffed briefly. “My dad would disagree.”

“Do you?” Jemma asked, curiously.

“No,” Fitz replied without hesitation, shaking his head. “There are a lot better things we should be doing.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile. “Well, then I believe you and I will get along far better than your father and I would ever have.”

One corner of his mouth ticked up briefly. He looked at her in silence for a long moment and Jemma felt herself getting lost in the blue of his irises.

“Thank you,” he finally said, barely above a whisper, before his smile grew a little wider. “You really are a good listener.”

Jemma laughed. “And I will gladly listen more, Fitz. And I truly believe that it will help you.”

“I think so, too,” Fitz admitted.

“And please, don’t be discouraged if the terrors return,” Jemma added, giving Fitz’s hands another squeeze. “There’s no immediate solution. It will be an up and down, but—but you can work through this, and I will gladly stand by your side while you do. The same goes for Holden and Agnes.”

Fitz looked from Jemma back to their hands, falling silent for a moment, before nodding. “Alright. Together.”

Jemma smiled, proud of what they’d accomplished, of his bravery.

They both startled when the door suddenly flew open.

“Jemma,” Agnes exclaimed breathlessly, “Anna Lithgow just phoned. I could barely make sense of her, she was so out of it, but her husband’s bleeding out in the pigsty.”

Jemma gasped, pushing herself up to standing as Fitz stood up as well.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered immediately.

Jemma nodded. “I’ll fetch my bag from the clinic. Let’s meet by the car.”

“She’s still on the phone,” Agnes called as they all rushed down the stairs. “What should I tell her?”

Jemma turned halfway, one foot already out the front door. “Tell her to apply pressure on the wound, preferably with a clean towel. We’ll be there in no more than ten minutes. Thank god their farm is close.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma sat in the kitchen with Agnes and Piper, a nurse who’d joined Doctor Radcliffe’s clinic less than a week ago and who—much like Fitz—preferred to be called by her last name rather than her first. It was early Sunday afternoon and Agnes had suggested to the two other women to indulge in tea and biscuits, while Holden and Fitz had gone on an errand after breakfast and still had not returned.

“So, Piper,” Agnes began, before pausing briefly to take a sip of her tea. “You have yet to tell us what brought you all the way from America to rural Scotland.”

The short-haired woman coughed, a crumb of her biscuit seemingly having gone down the wrong pipe. She covered her mouth with one hand, looking a bit wide-eyed at Jemma and Agnes, before clearing her throat. “Well, you know how it is. You meet someone at the front, fall madly in love, follow them to the end of the world—or in my case Edinburgh, only to find out that they’re getting married to somebody else.” She shrugged, her gaze wandering down, trying to hide her sad expression. “But I didn’t really have any reason to return to America either. No family. Many friends fallen during the war or scattered all over the country, so—” She looked back up, smiling one-sidedly. “I stayed in Scotland. It grows on you.”

Jemma and Agnes exchanged looks, before Agnes reached over, placing her hand on top of Piper’s.

“Well, the lad clearly didn’t know what he was missing,” the older woman said, smiling encouragingly. “And Perthshire has some very handsome men that would be lucky to have you, Piper. Just you wait and see.”

A shy smile flashed across Piper’s face, her eyes still shimmering with a hint of sadness. “Yeah, handsome men,” she mumbled quietly, before pulling her hand out from underneath Agnes’ and grabbing her teacup.

Once again, Agnes’ and Jemma’s eyes met briefly, the room filled with awkward silence.

“So, why did you become a nurse, Piper?” Jemma asked, hoping to change the topic to something more pleasant for her new colleague.

Piper looked up, a genuine smile appearing on her face as her eyes lit up. “Oh, my grandma—”

She stopped when loud honking could suddenly be heard through the open kitchen window, accompanied by engine sounds and the crunching of the pebbles in the driveway as car tires rolled over them.

The three women looked at each other in surprise.

“What a ruckus,” Agnes remarked, unable to keep from smiling, as the concert of urgent honks continued outside.

She pushed herself up to standing, straightening out her dress and looking at Jemma and Piper. “I think we’re expected to come outside,” she said.

Piper shrugged and got up in silence, while Jemma let out a sigh and followed suit.

* * *

Jemma furrowed her brow as she walked behind Agnes and Piper out of the house, her gaze fixed on where Holden was standing next to an unfamiliar motorized vehicle, smiling widely. Through the corner of her eye she noticed Fitz jogging from the garage back to where Holden was.

“Oh, my!” Agnes exclaimed as she walked towards the car, while Piper followed in silence, her hands tucked into her pockets.

“What is that?” Jemma asked in confusion as she approached the vehicle.

Holden slapped the roof of the car. “That, my dear, is a [1939 Morris Eight](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/ff/Morris_8_saloon_-_1939.jpg). And it’s for you—so to speak.”

“For me?” Jemma’s eyes widened in shock. “Why on earth—? Holden, that’s-—”

Holden raised his finger importantly. “If the next words out of your mouth are ‘too much,’ then let me stop you right then and there, my dear Doctor Simmons. You see, first of all—” He fanned his arm out to the side to gesture at Fitz, “—our good Fitz made sure that we found a vehicle for a rather reasonable price. And second of all—” Once again he lifted his finger for emphasis. “This car is not a gift, Jemma, it’s an investment in our clinic. A necessity, really!”

“Holden,” Jemma tried to interject, but like on her first day, her employer continued his speech with his usual enthusiasm without paying her interjection any heed.

“If Fitz hadn’t been here last month when Hamish Lithgow injured himself, the poor lad would likely have bled to death in his pigsty because you had no means of getting to him in time,” Holden explained.

Jemma’s expression grew more somber. She sighed, her eyes wandering to the car and Fitz standing next to it.

“You see, Jemma,” Holden continued, patting the roof of the vehicle. “This car could save lives. It’s an investment in our clinic, in our patients.”  He used his other hand to gesture at Piper. “And now that Nurse Piper has joined our humble business, it will be far easier to man the clinic, allowing the two of us to go on rounds through the district and cover more ground, reach more patients. You are well aware that most of our clients prefer when we can come to them, and Nurse Piper is more than capable of handling most routine cases that come to the clinic, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Jemma replied, looking first at Piper and then back at Holden. “She most certainly is, and—and your arguments are rather convincing and reasonable, but—” Jemma paused, noticing her heart beating quicker in her chest. She swallowed, her eyes wandering from person to person, before landing on Holden. She let out a stuttering breath, lifting her shoulders apologetically. “But I don’t know how to drive.”

Holden dropped his head back, letting out a wave of loud laughter, before looking back at Jemma, smiling widely. “Well, that’s a problem that’s easily remedied, my dear.” He gestured at himself. “I’d be more than happy to teach you. Right away, if you like. No time like the present.”

Jemma smiled shyly. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to—”

“Or maybe Fitz would be a better choice,” Holden interrupted her, looking at Fitz over the hood of the car. “While she is a beauty, she’s also a bit of an older model and according to her previous owner a bit temperamental at times. So, Fitz will need to give her a good once over in any case, and until she’s fixed, it may be safer to travel with the district’s best mechanic rather than my old bum. What do you say, son? Will you teach our beloved Doctor Simmons how to drive?”

Fitz shrugged slightly, pursing his lips. “Sure.”

Once again, Jemma felt everyone’s expectant eyes on her. She drew in a deep breath, before bobbing her head. “Alright then.”

Holden slapped the car’s roof once more. “Excellent.” He took a few steps forward, curling his arm around his wife’s waist and grinning widely. “Now, Agnes, my love, and my dear Nurse Piper, how about we go inside for a cup of tea and some biscuits, while these two youngsters take to the road?”

* * *

Jemma let out a shriek, stepping on the break as hard as she could when the sheep suddenly ran onto the street in front of her. Once the car had come to a stuttering halt, she let go of the steering wheel as if it had caught fire, pressing her hands flat against her chest instead. Her eyes tried to scan the area, but she couldn’t seem to focus.

“Is it alright?” she asked breathlessly.

Her head shot around, giving Fitz a stern look, who was chuckling quietly.

Fitz pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle his laughter. He straightened up, looking out of the window. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he announced, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Jemma glanced out of the window as well, this time noticing the sheep, too, which had come to a halt a little off the side of the road, looking judgingly back at Jemma.

She sighed, once again reaching for her chest, in which her heart was still beating frantically. “Good Lord, it just came out of nowhere.”

Fitz scoffed in amusement. “Yeah, they tend to do that, those little buggers.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the sheep. “Must have gotten out of its enclosure. I’ll let Montgomery know to check his fences.”

Jemma let out another deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to find her bearings again.

“Alright, let’s keep going. You’re doing fine.”

Jemma opened her eyes, looking at Fitz, who smiled at her one-sidedly.

She sighed. “I don’t know about that.”

Fitz shrugged. “Well, I do.”

His remark caused Jemma to let out a quiet laugh. She inhaled slowly, exhaling through rounded lips and placing her hands back on the steering wheel, yet not daring to start the motor again.

“I wonder what my parents will say when I tell them that I’m learning to drive a car,” she said thoughtfully.

Fitz lifted his shoulders. “They’d hopefully be proud to know that their daughter is picking up a valuable skill.”

Jemma chuckled. “Oh, I’m not sure if they’ll see it that way. I mean, though they’ve always supported me in my endeavour to study medicine, I think ultimately they had quite different hopes for me. They probably assumed I would practice medicine for just a while, until I found myself a good husband, settled down, preferably in Yorkshire or maybe London. I don’t think Scotland was ever on their mind for their daughter, let alone rural Scotland. And now that I’ve accepted this position and have been here for almost two months rather than immediately realizing my mistake and returning to them, I think it’s slowly dawning on them that maybe their ideas for my life and mine don’t quite match.”

One corner of Fitz’s mouth ticked up into a mischievous half-grin. “Maybe you should let them know that we have lads in Scotland, too.”

Jemma laughed out loud. “Do you? I hadn’t noticed.”

Fitz joined in her laughter, before his expression grew more somber again. “Look, far be it from me to criticise your parents, but why would they expect you to stop practicing medicine if you get married?” He shifted in his seat to look at Jemma more directly. “What you do is important and getting married doesn’t change that. You’re helping people. You’re saving lives. Hamish Lithgow is living proof of that. So am I, for that matter.”

Jemma felt her eyes well up as she looked at the sincerity behind his blue irises.

“This isn’t about what your parents want,” Fitz continued, his tone soft and honest. “It’s about what _you_ want, what _you_ think is right.” A quiet chuckle escaped him. “And if your parents truly believe that you should stop working as a doctor if you get married and you think they’re wrong, then I believe you and I will get along far better than your parents and I ever will.”

Jemma couldn’t help but laugh out loud as Fitz used the words she’d spoken to him a month ago to win his argument. She cleared her throat, smiling at him. “You’re right.”

“I get wanting to please your parents, wanting to show them respect,” Fitz remarked, before shaking his head, scoffing quietly. “I went to war to please my dead father, whom I hated.” He shrugged. “But sometimes what they want isn’t the right thing for you. And the fact that you accepted Holden’s offer, that you came here, that it doesn’t look like you’re leaving anytime soon, tells me that you know that. The guilt will fade and hopefully one day, your parents will realize that medicine isn’t just something temporary for you. It’s your calling.”

Once again, Jemma noticed her vision turn blurry as tears gathered in her eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched, and she wet her lips before replying, barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Fitz.”

He bobbed his head barely noticeably, before shifting in his seat, straightening up and lifting his chin in the direction of the road. “Now. Let’s try this again.”

Jemma chuckled, grabbing the steering wheel firmly, before reaching for the ignition. “Well, then. Sheep of Perthshire, you better watch out.”

She started the engine, which began to sputter loudly as the car started rolling down the country road.

Fitz leaned back in his seat, crossing his hands behind his head and looking out the front window, a smile adorning his face. “And if you run one over, we’ll just take it home and make haggis.”

Jemma laughed out loud, reaching over to playfully slap Fitz’s arm, before returning her focus to the street. “You know, I’ve never actually had haggis.”

“ _What?_ ” Fitz exclaimed loudly.

* * *

Fitz opened the front door, wiping his shoes off before stepping inside, holding the door open for Jemma. She smiled at him as she walked past him into the hallway, taking her coat off.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling widely.

He grinned at her one-sidedly as he closed the door. “My mum taught me some manners.”

Jemma laughed out loud, but before she could reply, Holden’s head poked out of the kitchen door.

“Well, there they are,” he announced loudly. “How did the driving lesson go?”

Fitz tucked his hands in his pockets and walked to the kitchen door. “She’s already a better driver than you.”

Jemma scoffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest and stepping up next to Fitz, giving him a reprimanding look. “I almost ran over a sheep and gave Roy McDougall and his horse a near heart-attack.”

Fitz grinned back at her, before looking at Holden, shrugging slightly. “Like I said, already a better driver than you.”

Holden laughed out loud, before wrapping his arm around Jemma’s shoulders, guiding her into the kitchen. “Well, that’s excellent news. Not that I had any doubts.”

“But did you know she’s never tried haggis?” Fitz piped up behind them.

Holden let go of Jemma’s shoulders, doing a double-take in Fitz’s direction. “What is that?” He turned to look at his wife. “Agnes, did you hear that? Our dear Doctor Simmons has never tried haggis!”

Agnes scoffed in amusement, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I can’t blame her for that.”

Holden gasped. “Almost twenty years in Scotland, my love, and still not warming up to our national delicacy?”

“Maybe the next twenty will do the trick,” his wife countered, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“I actually kinda like it,” Piper announced from where she was sitting at the kitchen table.

Holden gestured excitedly at her. “See. Our American friend has better taste than citizens of the Commonwealth.”

Jemma raised her hands defensively, unable to keep from laughing. “I’m not saying I’m opposed to trying it. I’ve simply never had the opportunity.”

Holden fanned his arms out, twisting side to side to look at everyone in the room, before his eyes landed back on his wife. “Well, in that case, my beloved Agnes, I beg of you.”

Agnes laughed out loud, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’ll talk to Jenny Fletcher. Hers is the best in the district, if you ask me. Maybe for next Sunday.”

“Excellent,” Holden declared, bobbing his head, before tugging his trousers up and looking at Fitz and Jemma. “Now, tell me more about how the driving lessons went.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter planned for this prequel to Five Senses and then I'll get started on the sequel :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @dilkirani and @lilsciencequeen for the beta.

Fitz combed his fingers through his hair, taking a final look in the mirror, before exhaling sharply, a hint of a smile ghosting across his face.

He’d slept well. Extremely well, in fact, which seemed remarkable considering two nights ago his nightmares had returned with a vengeance and he’d felt all the progress of the last few months disintegrate in just a few hours.

Holden had rushed to his bedside as usual, as well as Jemma, Agnes, and even Piper. He’d felt embarrassed and weak, but Jemma reassured him that no one saw it that way.

He’d been nervous to go to bed last night, and Jemma must have picked up on it during dinner, seeking him out and spending the rest of the evening talking to him, reminding him that the occasional setback was normal and that he’d made so much progress already.

Apparently her words had put his mind to ease.

Fitz opened the bathroom door, heading straight for the kitchen in fast energetic steps.

He smiled reflexively when he noticed Jemma standing by the kitchen window, her back turned mostly to the door, but revealing enough to let Fitz see she was reading a letter.

“Morning,” Fitz said, but she didn’t seem to even notice, too concentrated on the task at hand.

It somehow reminded him of the first time he’d seen her, standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed on the small town where the bus stopped, her hands gripping her suitcase and medical bag. It was hard to believe that it had only been a bit over three months since she’d come into his life and changed it forever.

Another smile flashed across Fitz’s face and he decided not to disrupt her as she read. He walked to the stove instead, inspecting the pot and kettle. The porridge Agnes prepared each morning was still warm, and Fitz grabbed a bowl and placed a generous serving into the dish before putting it on the table. He returned to the stove, touching the kettle with the back of his hand, noticing that it was still hot. He looked over his shoulder.

Jemma was still standing by the window, but the hand holding the letter was now hanging loosely by her side and she seemed to be looking out the window.

“Water’s still hot. Do you want a cup of tea, too?” Fitz asked calmly, trying to get her attention now that she seemed done with reading her post.

She spun around, obviously startled, and Fitz froze when he noticed her eyes were tear-rimmed.

“What?” she mumbled, her forehead wrinkled.

Fitz gestured absentmindedly over his shoulder. “Tea?” he replied, more by reflex than anything else.

Her eyes wandered briefly to the kettle, but her movements seemed abrupt, almost skittish. She wet her lips, before pressing them together and swallowing hard. “Um, yes, sure. That would be lovely,” she replied, a tremor in her voice.

Fitz furrowed his brow. “Is everything alright?”

She tried to force a smile, but it was anything but convincing. “Yes, yes, quite alright.” A weak chuckle escaped her lips. “In fact—” she cleared her throat, lifting the letter in her hand higher, “—I received rather good news from my mother.”

“Oh?” Fitz muttered, not particularly reassured by her tense body language.

“Yes,” Jemma’s lips once again pulled into a forced smile. “The son of a close family friend, who recently finished his medical degree after struggling a bit with passing his final exams just got a position at The London as a surgeon. That’s—that’s quite remarkable. A great accomplishment, really.”

Fitz saw how the letter in her hand slightly trembled. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, as if she was trying desperately not to blink, not to let the rim of tears overflow. There was something almost pleading in her look, though Fitz couldn’t tell if she was pleading to let the conversation end or if she was hoping for some reassuring words.

He’d learned a bit about her life in the past three months, her dreams and her struggles as a woman in the medical field, her family’s expectations, but Fitz wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her like this before, visibly shaken by the—possibly not quite well-deserved—success of a fellow, _male_ doctor.

Holden had called her an extraordinary gem, and Fitz couldn’t agree more. Her smile brightened any room. Her words of wisdom and the gentle sound of her voice were like a balm, soothing Fitz’s soul. Her heart was kind and open and welcoming. She was smart and talented and funny, and sometimes Fitz felt like she had brought a piece of himself back that he’d been missing.

He couldn’t imagine his life without her anymore and seeing the doubt in her eyes, the sadness over missed opportunities, threatened to tear that piece away again.

“Yeah, b-but,” he stammered, trying to break the silence, trying to bring his brain to come up with something clever. He gestured at Jemma palm-up. “But has he ever stopped a farmer from bleeding out in his own pigsty?”

Jemma let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. She sniffled quietly, shaking her head. “I highly doubt Milton has ever even set foot into a pigsty.”

Fitz fanned his arms out to the side. “Well, there you have it. He’s missing out.”

Jemma chuckled quietly, bobbing her head. “Yes, clearly,” she agreed, her words coming across as appreciative but not sincere.

Fitz looked at her, his lips slightly parted, as awkward silence seemed to settle in the room.

She’d become something of a pillar of strength for him and Fitz wished more than anything to return the favor, to bring her joyous laugh and her infectious smile back, her strength and determination.

And yet, he felt like she had no desire to talk more about the topic he knew occupied her mind—at least not right now.

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, furrowing his brow, as he tried to come up with a different solution—maybe a way to take her mind off work and breathe easy.

A smile ghosted across his face when an idea suddenly came to him. He gestured at Jemma. “You know, um—It’s your day off, right?”

Jemma smiled politely, nodding in confirmation. “Yes.”

Fitz cleared his throat, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I, um—I was thinking of driving to the ocean today. The weather’s pretty decent and I haven’t gone in a while.” He scoffed. “May sound strange for a bloke who almost drowned once, but—but I always find the ocean calming—the view at least, and the smell, the sounds.”

The corners of Jemma’s mouth twitched briefly, though her expression seemed slightly confused.

Fitz raised his palm in Jemma’s direction. “Do you want to come along?”

Her eyes widened in surprise as a quiet “Oh” escaped her lips. She stared at Fitz in silence for a moment, before letting out a shaky sigh. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Fitz shook his head. “No, not at all. I—I’d like the company. It’ll make the drive less boring.”

She dropped her shoulders, her expression softening as if she knew exactly that under different circumstances, his words would have been a lie, under different circumstances, he’d appreciate the solitude.

But not today, not when his company would be her.

Fitz lifted his shoulders. “We could make a day of it. Pack a picnic. The clinic’s district aside, you haven’t seen much of Scotland.”

He could see her wheels turning and yet she still seemed somewhat reluctant, presumably because the cloud hanging above her head in the shape of her mother’s letter darkened her mind.

Fitz raised his eyebrows, gesturing at Jemma with both hands. “You can drive,” he offered as a final incentive.

She began to chuckle and the sound conjured a hopeful smile to Fitz’s lips.

“If I drive, I’ll be far too concentrated on the road to see anything of Scotland,” she countered.

Fitz grinned happily. “Then I’ll drive.”

Jemma looked at him in silence for a moment, before the corners of her mouth quirked up again. “And you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Fitz confirmed. “Quite the opposite.”

Jemma exhaled sharply. “So when were you planning on leaving?”

“Um,” Fitz scratched the skin below his ear. “Just gonna have breakfast, pack a picnic, grab a jumper, and good to go.”

Jemma let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I already had breakfast. Why don’t I make some sandwiches for our picnic while you eat?”

Fitz’s eyes wandered to the bowl of presumably now cold porridge on the kitchen table, before looking back at Jemma. “You sure?”

Jemma bobbed her head. “Yes, absolutely.”

Fitz turned halfway around, pointing at the kettle. “Can I at least still make you a cup of tea?”

Jemma smiled widely. “That would be lovely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this part of the series. Thanks for your patience.
> 
> If you haven't already read it, this fic now moves (more-or-less) seamlessly on to [Five Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115583), the one-shot that started this series.
> 
> I have a sequel for Five Senses planned, but can't promise when exactly I'll have time to start it. But I love this series, so hopefully I'll soon find time. [Hint: You can subscribe to the series to get updates ;) ]


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